What an intern taught me about life, and myself

As I stagger toward retirement, I keep thinking about a 21-year-old intern who asked me to lunch.

Natasha Mascarenhas is pretty much my demographic opposite — a single, nonwhite, vegetarian East Coaster, almost young enough to be my mustache’s daughter.

Our lunch came with a twist: I suggested we include a colleague we both liked, also young and female. I figured that if the old guy bored Natasha to tears, at least the company might ease her misery.

The lunch itself was nice, but her gesture is what stayed with me long after Natasha had gone. Once you get past a certain age at work, you feel like a teenager in “Dear Evan Hansen”: lost in the in-between.

You don’t apply for promotions because you know it would be a waste of time. Even if your boss likes you, your boss’ boss probably doesn’t care, and your boss’ boss’ boss is more concerned with how much you’re costing the company.

You’re not the flavor of the month anymore. You’re the flavor of the last millennium.

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As for you, well … when you’re near the end of a marathon, you’re not as willing to go the extra mile.

You might have even developed a particularly nasty habit: hanging out with people who are just like you. Same age, same sex, same race. There’s no sexual tension, no racial tension, no paying attention.

You don’t spend much free time with colleagues, the way you did when you were Natasha’s age. You’re with family or friends. Old friends.

A friend I’ve known since I was an intern told me that one of her favorite things about retirement is that she can enjoy lunch with people she likes. While she was working, it was hard to find the time.

I didn’t want to wait that long, and I didn’t want all my lunches to be with people just like me. A co-worker was having her 23rd birthday, so I Slacked another young colleague and suggested we take her out. A few weeks later, I asked a reporter in her 30s if she’d help me invite another newcomer.

If not for Natasha, I would never have asked any of them, not just because of the age difference, not just because of #MeToo, but because it might have been uncomfortable — maybe for me and (even worse) maybe for them. When you’re too old or too shy, or both, Uncomfortable and Inertia are those demons that you just don’t bother fighting.

Finally, though, the old white guy’s light bulb went on: I’m a lot more similar to Natasha than I am to Les Moonves, demographics be damned. Uncomfortable and Inertia weren’t going to win this one.

I wanted to be just like her.

So I asked. To my surprise, all four women, all young enough to be my daughters, said yes — pretty enthusiastically. No one was lost in the in-between.

Now about a dozen of us get together each month, for lunch or happy hour. And no, I’m not the only guy, nor the only 60-year-old (numbers have been rounded to protect the aged).

It makes me appreciate not only what workplace diversity is, but what it can be. It’s nice if your demographics fit the perfect profile, but the potential isn’t realized if women are intimidated or if Asians cling to other Asians or if old white guys don’t assimilate.

More than anything, though, it makes me appreciate this: A 21-year-old, nonwhite, single female East Coast vegetarian intern inspired me more than any CEO ever has.

Maybe going that extra mile isn’t so hard after all — if you have the right people by your side. People who are just like you, even if they aren’t just like you.

A woman older than Natasha tweeted about adjusting to the working world, and asked how “adults” make friends. A guy younger than me tweeted back: “They don’t. Sorry.”

And he’s right, mostly. But if you ask just the right question of just the right person at just the right time, you just might make a friend for life.